Lost and found
by Vivien99
Summary: In 2.04 it's told that Athos has experience with poison and getting rid of it. This is my story he has gained this knowledge. Aramis has lost something in Savoy. He can't bear with the incident and it's aftereffects, so he uses the knowledge, he has as an medic, to cope with the situation. Athos won't let the musketeer destroy himself.
1. Chapter 1

_If you've read alread one of my other fics you may know, that english isn't my first language. So I'm still happy for any help!  
Now have fun with caring Athos suffering Aramis, or suffer with him!  
I'm thankful for any review!_

It was so cold, he thought his heart had to stop beating any minute. Still, it was racing. He gasped for air, but it wouldn't fell his lungs. Aramis laid a hand onto his chest, as if this could control his breathing. He has lost the feeling of time or for his surroundings, but felt every part of his body throbbing and hurting. The musketeer felt as if he was caught in his own body and wasn't able to escape the pain he was in. Normally he ignored it, normally he concentrated on everything but on the pain he was in. It saved him just as many times as it brought him trouble. But this time was different. It was easier to concentrate on his pain, than on what's happening around him.

Aramis didn't really notices how help arrives. He didn't hear the voices of his brothers, felt their hands on his arms. He felt like his head was going to explode, and that his legs shaked heavily under the weight of his body – which was mostly carried by the other musketeers. He didn't see the lifeless bodies. He didn't see the blood, the intestines or the empty eyes. He had already seen and he wasn't able to see it again. He couldn't.

Aramis was carried onto a wagon, while his dead brothers were counted and brought onto other wagons, who were already waiting for the lifeless freight. The first time the marksman dared to escape from his selfmade-prison, was as Athos gently touched his shoulder. He looked straight into his brothers eyes, emotions - he normally hid - openly showed. "Aramis, mon amie. Are you with us? Do you have a concussion? Brother, we need to know. C'mon, talk to us." Aramis blinked, to clear his view. He looked confused, unfocused and terribly traumatized – Athos thought. "I don't know." The medic touched his head, as if he felt his head bleed now for the first time. It was already bandaged, so he couldn't feel more than the soft material under his fingers. "Can you see clearly? Can you feel your legs?" Athos carefully touched along his brothers extremities, searching for further wounds.

"My head hurts," Aramis admitted, voice dry and rough. It wasn't a good sign when he admitted to his pain so easily. "Anything else?" Athos tried to shove his worry away. It wasn't the right moment for it.

As if his eyes have lost any light, the marksman looked into his brothers. "They're all dead, Athos, am I right? They're dead. All of them… besides me. And Marsac. He still lives, you have to find him." Adrenaline shot through his body and he sat up straight. "Athos we need to find Marsac, he lived!"  
The swordsman searched for the right words, sighing. "Aramis, I'm sorry. We searched everywhere as we noticed he was missing. He was nowhere to be found. If he still lives he didn't want to be found." Aramis shook his head, which caused him to moan in pain. "He wouldn't have left us. He searched for help. He knew I still lived – he was searching for help!"

Athos looked at his hands. He didn't know this man for long or well, still it broke his heart seeing him so lost. In this moment he decided to help the marksman as good as he can through the hard time.

"Lay down, Aramis. You've lost a lot of blood and didn't drink or eat for a long time. Rest, I will get you some water." The medic wanted to protest, but was pushed down gently by a strong hand. It was to exhausting to sit up again and the hard wood underneath felt like pillows made of the softest feathers. His body got the rest it needed. But his mind couldn't stop. He lived through the horror again and again, until he finally woke up screaming and sweating. Immediately a strong arm hold him upright and gave him a cup of water. He drank with shaky hands, leaning into his brothers arms, not able to hold his own weight upright. "It's over. We're at the Garrison. It's over."

Confused, Aramis looked around. Athos was right. "How long have I slept?"

"Almost a day."

"And you were here the whole time?" The swordsman nod and put down the empty cup. "I talked to Treville that you shouldn't be alone when you wake up. But now…" "You have work to do. I understand. Go, it's no problem. I'm feeling fine." Athos once again nodded and made his way to the door – he never was a man of many words. "It's okay," Aramis assured him once again, "And thank you for staying here." Athos smiled – so slightly you might have not noticed if you didn't look closely. It was enough for Aramis to see.

After Athos has left, Aramis sat up slowly. His head still throbbed hard, but at least he had regained full feeling of the other parts of his body. The cold has left him, for now. His gaze fell onto a plate with bread, cheese and ham, which stood at the table in the middle of the room. He wasn't hungry at all, but as a medic he knew he would need to eat at lest a little bit. He wasn't sure when his last meal was. It was the breakfast at the day the raid had happened. He tried to think how long this has to be ago, but just couldn't remember how long he sat there in the snow alone. Was it hours or days?

His thoughts were blurry and it was exhausting to think about what had happened, so he decided to eat a bit of the bread. After the first pieces, he felt the hunger rise again and ate everything on the plate. He felt better after it, but as he stood up his head pounded harder than ever before. His sight got blurry and he hastily sat down again. The pain was sharp and dull at the same time, spreading from his head into his upper body. His hands shook, while his chest lifted heavily. Hurried, and as fast as possible, he grabbed the bag, which stood beside his bed. He searched in it for a while, until he found the small bottle. Aramis opened it, the cap feel onto the floor, as he poured the liquid down. It burned in his dry throat, but helped just seconds later. He felt his muscles relax and the pain in his head got less. The medic sighed in relief and laid back down, letting the bottle fall down unnoticed. Sleep. He needed sleep. Finally his body and mind got their well-deserved rest.  
This time he didn't dream, he didn't scream or felt the pain. He floated in nothing but softness. It felt good. He felt good.

"Aramis? Aramis wake up. The captain is here." The marksman moaned tiredly and slapped away Athos' hand. "I'm tired," he mumbled.  
"Stand up soldier. This is a command." Trevilles voice was rough and loud enough, to pull Aramis out of his own world. He snapped his eyes open and stood up so fast that it went dark before his eyes for a few seconds. He held onto Athos until was able to see the captain clearly. Aramis tried to stand as straight as possible, even if he wished nothing more than to lay back down. His head just didn't stop to pound. It was hard to understand the captain under the dull sound in his ears. "First of all I'm glad to see you alive and back home, Aramis." Treville's voice was much softer than before, still he never lost his straight and untouched gaze. He could not show his soldiers how much he suffered from the losses. "Secondly, I need your report." He looked at Athos, who left the room hastily, closing the door behind him.

The captain pointed onto the two chairs and sat down on one of them. Aramis obeyed and sat down on the opposite side of the table. "What do you need to know?" His voice was rough, from the long sleep. He didn't feel awake, though. "Everything. From your arrival until you were found. And if you have noticed something strange on the travel to Savoy, I need to know it too." Aramis shook his head carefully. "No everything seemed normal. We arrived at the coordinates you gave us. A few of us built up the tents, others took care of the horses. Marsac and I were searching for wood to make a fire." The name of his best friend felt wrong, when he didn't know where and how he was. Aramis already thought about him a lot. Athos was probably right – Marsac didn't want to be found. He left him to die alone. He left him with all of the corpses of their brothers, because he couldn't bear it anymore. Aramis knew this was the only good explanation, still he didn't want to accept it. He took a sip from the water, which stood in front of him. The captain waited patiently, giving the soldier the time he needed. "We noticed nothing – no one. I don't understand. We walked around the whole camp. They had to be already there to observe us. I probably wasn't careful enough."

"Aramis it's not your fault. They probably hid, where no one would have seen them." The medic ignored the captains argument, he already was sure that it was his fault. "We made fire and ate. A few were going to sleep – it was dark and late and we had a long ride behind us. The others kept watch. I was a few hundred meters away, as I heard the first screams. I ran- I ran as fast as possible. It wasn't a mugging, it wasn't a fight." Aramis swept away the sweat on his face, before continuing. "It was a massacre. At least 8 of us were already murdered in their sleep. They never had a chance. I didn't notice how the others fell, I just tried to survive. I killed five men, wounded three more but they were too many. For every man we killed, two more came out of the woods. I remember getting hit on the head by something hard… then, the next thing I know is, that I sat in the snow. Marsac said something I didn't understand, before he left. I thought he would get help. It was, as he had left, as I noticed the… the corpses for the first time. They were slaughtered like pigs. God-" Aramis voice shook, as he hid his face in them. He didn't want to talk about all of this, he didn't want to remember. But as a good soldier, he had to. "I wanted to search for the wounded. I stumbled through the camp, but my vision was blurry and no one answered my calls. No one moved or breathed. I was alone with all these dead men. I wasn't able to walk further to get help, I just fell down somewhere and sat there. I decided I had no other choice to wait. For help or the death."

The captain was silent for a few moments. He wouldn't wish this his greatest enemy. No one deserved this. Above all not Aramis. He was one of his best soldiers and a good man. Treville remembered how the marksman rode away in the first row – happily to go out into the nature for a few days. He remembered how much he loved and cared for his brothers and tried to understand how it had to feel to lose them like this. He couldn't. "I'm sorry, Aramis."  
"It doesn't bring them back." Treville sighed, he was right.  
"I want to be alone now, if I'm allowed to." The marksman stood up, clearly harassed by the incident. Treville left without saying anything further. Aramis needed time, not words.

Aramis sat down onto his bed, staring onto the wooden floor for a while. He won't see them ever again. They're gone, because he wasn't able to help them.


	2. Chapter 2

Six days went by with Aramis locked in his room. He never went out to talk to his remaining brothers, to eat or just do _something_. Treville visited him two more times, trying to talk to him but Aramis never really answered. Sometimes he nod, shook his head or murmured a few words – but never more. Athos brought him something to eat and drink three times a day, because he feared the marksman would starve himself to death otherwise. Aramis was asleep most of the times Athos visited. When he was awake, he just laid there and stared at the ceiling. Sometimes he stood at the window, watching the other musketeers practice. Aramis seemed to lose more of himself with every day. He lost weight, was pale and the light in his eyes – which always burned so bright – was long gone. Athos has never talked much to him or to anyone, but still he knew this man well. He knew that Aramis was always full of joy. He loved talking and joking around. He had a heart big enough for the whole regiment. He loved to love. Athos had heard about his many affairs and of all the woman he has had. Aramis was the best marksman in Paris, maybe even in France. He also was the field medic and a very religious man. But nothing of this was left. Aramis was nothing more than a shell, a body without it's soul. With his brothers, also a part of himself has died. Or maybe it was just lost. Athos hoped to be able to find it and bring it back.

As Athos brought Aramis supper this day he was determined to help the musketeer, even though he didn't know how. He knocked carefully but didn't wait for an answer, as he walked in. Aramis never answered. The swordsman put the plate onto the table and closed the door behind him. This caused Aramis to look away from the ceiling and over to Athos. He has never staid the past few days.  
"Aramis, you can't go on like this," Athos took a chair and placed it in front of the bed, Aramis was laying in. The marksman looked back to the ceiling, not able to see anyone, not able to look at a musketeer. He wouldn't have seen Athos. He would have seen his dead brothers, staring at him reproachful. It was easier to ignore them, than to face the problem. "Aramis listen. You can't stay in here forever. Soon the captain will expect you to work again… if you don't do it you will be dismissed. I know you think you don't want this anymore. You think you've lost your place within the musketeers. But you haven't. You're still one of us and you will ever be. Don't throw away your life like this. You experienced something… something very terrible. I know. But you lived. You lived for a reason. You didn't live because god wanted you to die in this room. He wanted that you go on, that you do your duty. Because we need you. The people, the king and the musketeers."

Athos looked at the man, searching for any sign of reaction, but Aramis remained silent. The swordsman sighed, running his hand through his messy hair. "Your brothers deserve that you live for them. You survived, because someone had to tell stories about this men. You survived so that the memory of this brave musketeers will never die. Now do your duty and _live_."

Aramis sat up slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as pain rushes through his head. Why did Athos need to come here and say all of this? Aramis already felt guilty enough, he didn't need someone to tell him what else he does wrong. Sometimes – no most of the time – Aramis wished he had died with them on this day. It would have been easier. "I need to rest now," he murmured and searched in his bag for the medicine he has prescribed himself. Athos followed his moves wary. He watched how Aramis gulped down nearly everything of the content in the bottle. "What's this?" He took the phial and looked at the label. _Opium,_ was written on it. Athos wasn't an physic, still he knew a bit of these things. It was pain-relieving and helped too sleep, but on the other side he has heard of a lot of people who got addicted to it. They got apathetic and lost so much weight, till they died or they took too much and feel asleep and never woke up again. "I don't think you should take that much of it," he spoke concerned.

But Aramis didn't listen anymore. He had his eyes already closed again, his faces relaxed. He seemed peaceful. Athos made sure that the marksman slept, before taking one of the bottles with him. He wanted to talk to a doctor about this. And to Treville if necessary.

Aramis hasn't touched his food from yesterday, as Athos brought in his breakfast. At least he was awake again. The marksman just changed his bandage, as Athos came in. He was happy to see, that the wound has nearly healed. So the risk of an infection was nearly gone completely. "You need to eat. And get out of this room."

Aramis looked at the swordsman skeptical, a touch on contempt in his gaze. "Who do you think you are? You come in here every day and tell me what I have to do or what not. Your no Comte anymore, Athos. You don't have any right to give me orders. Moreover you have no right to talk to me about what had happened. You have no right to say "you understand" or "You know how I feel". 'Cause you don't know. You know nothing!" Aramis threw the plate onto the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. "I just want to help you, Aramis. Look at you – you're not yourself anymore."  
"How would you know that? We've never talked more than a few words. Don't act like you know me."

"You're right." Athos picked up the broken plate. "I don't know you. I know Aramis, the brave musketeer, full of joy and with a heart bigger than his body. I know a man who fighted for his country and his king with pride. But here in front of me just stands a… coward."

Sooner than Athos was able to react, he was pressed against the door, an arm against his throat. Aramis pressed, until Athos gasped for air. "Don't you dare to call me like this ever again." The marksman pushed hard one last time, before he let go. Athos left without saying anything further.

"Maybe he was right," Aramis mumbled to himself and sat down on the bed. "Maybe I am a coward." He thought about how he sat there at the tree, wounded, watching the last of his brothers die. He didn't help them, he didn't fight. He had let them down. As already a hundred times before, he wondered why he survived. He thought about what Athos had said, but this didn't seem realistic. No. He thought that god must have decided to let him live because this was a better hell for him, than Satan could ever design. It was his own purgatory. But if he died now, would he ever get to see heaven? Or would the pain just go on? It was only for god to know.

Aramis kneeled down in front of his bed, folded his hands together and started to pray. He prayed in French, in Spanish and then in Latin.

It was evening as his door opened again. Aramis still prayed hopelessly. He ignored whoever came in and went on. By now not only his knees, but also his back hurt like hell. He deserved it, so he wanted to pray until god finally heard him.

"I've talked to a physic about this opium you're taking." Athos waited, if Aramis would turn around or say something, but he didn't. "He told me that you're supposed to take it two times a day at the most. Just a few drops. And not any longer than for a week. Your head is nearly healed, Aramis. Do you really need it?"

Aramis ended his prayers and stood up, facing the other musketeer. "What do you think you're doing Athos? You act as if you would help me, but you don't. Let me live like I want to. When I think I need to take this medicine, I do it. It's nothing you have to worry about. I know what I'm doing. I'm the field medic, if you've forgotten."  
"No physic should treat himself if not necessary. You know that better than me."

Aramis sighed, feeling powerless suddenly. "Why can't you let me alone?" He begged more than he asked as he sunk down in a chair. He seemed so small and vulnerable in this moment. "I can't let a good man like you are, ruin yourself." "I… I need this okay?" Aramis played with the small bottle which stood on the table. It helped him.

"I'm sure you do. But do you need to take so much of it?"  
Aramis didn't answer. Of course he knew that he took way more than he would ever allow one of his patience. He knew that there were people who got easily addicted to the milk of the poppy. Still, he didn't want to do without it. It reduced his headache and helped him sleep without nightmares. But most important: it helped him deal with the reality. He persuaded that himself at least. Indeed he didn't deal with reality, he fled from it.

Athos decided that it wouldn't use him to push Aramis anymore. He came further today than on any other. So he didn't want to talk about the drug anymore and tried something else. "A bit of fresh air could help you, don't you think?"  
"The window's open." Aramis answered sluggish.

"C'mon, a bit of sun on your skin wouldn't kill you. Just ten minutes, okay?"  
Aramis felt too weak to discuss or fight with the swordsman now. He mumbled an "okay" and stood up. He didn't want to go out. He didn't want to see the remaining musketeers, who reminded him on the dead ones. Nevertheless he went with Athos.

The cold wind hit against his skin and he wrapped the coat around his thin body. He felt the looks burning on him, as he followed Athos through the court. Aramis looked down, didn't want to see them. He was sure they all hated him, they surely wondered why he lived and all the others died. They had to hate him.  
He didn't realize that they still loved him. That they were glad to have him back, to have at least one of them back. "Where are we going?" He asked, as the two of them left the garrison.

"Don't know. Outside." Athos shrugged his shoulders, glancing over to the marksman. He finally got him outside. It got better. Slowly, but it did. Aramis looked at all the people on the market. Shouting, talking, laughing. The smell of fruits and roasted meat filled the air. He got sick. "Can we go somewhere else? I'm not feeling-" He choked, tasting the bitter vomit in his throat. Athos led him into the next alley, that led away from the market. "Can't we just go back?" Aramis leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. He wanted to be alone again.

"We walked like hundred meters. You can do more, c'mon." Athos started to walk again and Aramis followed reluctantly. He hoped that Athos would leave him alone the next days, when he played along now. Aramis looked at all the people who walked or ran past them. He felt like every single one of them was judging him. He wished for nothing more than so simply disappear.

"You know, Treville and I have talked." Athos looked over to the marksman, looking for his reaction, but he stayed unaffected. "Treville says you need to work again in two days, now that your wound is nearly healed." Aramis throat clenched as he heard the news. He didn't feel like he was able to practice with the musketeers, to guard the king or to fight. He wasn't sure if he would ever feel able to do it again. When he heard the swords meet, the sound from metal on metal, he heard also the screams of his brothers. When he heard the new recruits as they practiced shooting, he saw the red snow. When he saw someone fall down in a fight, he thought they would never stand up again.

But none of this he told Athos. He only nod, as if this was no problem for him. He already thought about going to a monastery, how his father always wanted. But he doubted that god would allow him to enter such a holy place, now as he let him suffer the pain of purgatory. No, he didn't belong in a place like this. He deserved to stay with the musketeers, to be reminded of the incident very day. He deserved to feel the derogatory gazes and to see his brothers die in front of his eyes every day again. He deserved to be reminded to his failure again and again. e wi

 _Thank you all for your reviews and your interest in this story. You really motivate to go on. I'm still thankful for any review and help!  
We're coming closer now to the main point of the story. Let's hope, that Aramis will accept Athos help!_


	3. Chapter 3

The two days went by way too fast for Aramis liking. And soon he found himself standing in the court, his uniform washed, the hat hiding his bandages, his eyes tired. Treville gave out orders and information for the day. While others would be guarding the king while he's haunting, Aramis had so stay in the garrison. Clean the barns, practice and maybe he was allowed to stand guard in the evening. He has never hated the captain more than in this moment. If he had to go to work again, he wanted to work normal. These were tasks for recruits! But he didn't say anything, knowing it would only get worse. So he made his way up to the burns, fetching a pitchfork at the way. A horse neighed as he entered the barns. His horse.

"Hey there, beauty." A small smile laid on his lips as he pet her. The animal seemed to be the only one who didn't hate him, Aramis thought. After a few minutes he started his work, at noon he was ready with his task. On the one hand he was thankful for the break. His muscles arched and his head pounded. But on the other hand he didn't want to have to sit outside with the others and there scolding looks.

He sat down on a table, which was still empty. Only a few musketeers were already back in the garrison to eat. Aramis was thankful for this, and took the bowl of soup Serge placed in front of him. He wasn't hungry at all, so he ate a few spoons before pushing away the bowl.

His headache got worse as the half regiment entered the garrison, laughing and talking. The haunt was probably over. Sighing, Aramis took out his beloved bottle from his coat and took a few drops. It helped nearly immediately. The sounds around him blurred and seemed as if they were miles away. He felt his arching back relax and smiled in relief. Suddenly all of the scolding looks didn't seem to count anymore. It seemed as if they weren't there. They were far away, as well as the other musketeers. He felt alone in a good kind of way.

"You need to eat more." Athos sat down beside Aramis and ripped him out of his own, peaceful world. "You need to keep your mouth shut for once. You were always so quiet, why not now?" The marksman put his head into his hands, massaging his temple. This Athos was annoying.

"Eat and I will be quiet."

Aramis stood up annoyed. He had enough of Athos little games. He shot the Comte de la Fere one last angry look, before he went to where the targets for the shooting-practice stood. The marksman took one of the guns and loaded it. He aimed, shot and failed. He hit the target just at the outermost circle. Screaming frustrated, Aramis threw away the weapon. His vision was blurry and his hands shook. His headache seemed to get worse through the loud sound of the gunshot.

"Destroying the weapon won't help you hit the target," the captain explained calmly. Aramis was about to say something cruel, before he was able to hold back. He got say things like this to Athos, but not to his captain. So he decided the best thing was to remain silent.

"Try again. You just need a bit of practice until you have the feeling for it back. A blow to the head isn't so easy to cope, but I'm sure you can make it. But besides the practice, you need a clear head for this. You understand? No one can shoot when he's drugged."

Aramis looked at Treville the first time in days. The captain has watched his soldier already for a while. The man who has had left Savoy wasn't the same who entered it. The musketeer in front of him as pale and thin, the eyes empty and tired. Everyone was able to see the pain he was in, the problems he had to deal with. And everyone wanted to help, but Aramis just wouldn't let anyone near him. He just pushed away everyone. Oh, how many men and women have already tried?  
Not only Athos and Treville himself visited the marksman. There were medics, Serge, other Musketeers, even Claire, affair of him. But no one was able to talk to him, help him.

"I'm not drugged." Aramis took another gun. This time he didn't look at his target. He turned his head and closed his eyes, before he pulled the trigger. This time he hit the middle. Maybe his senses weren't the same at the moment, but at least his instinct was still there. He smiled at the captain satisfied.

 _I know it's a short chapter, but since I've already updated today, I think it will be enough! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

Athos slapped his cheek slightly. "C'mon Aramis, wake up. The Captain is coming back soon!" The swordsman let out a frustrated groan, as Aramis didn't seem able to be woken up. Athos thought about the many times he had wished someone would have woken him while he had slept through his latest hangover. He slapped Aramis again, now harder. The marksman shot his head up. At first he looked confused, before he glared at Athos furious. "How dare you?!" Aramis stood up, pushing the other musketeer away. "You needed to wake up. The captain-" Athos wasn't able to come to an end, as a fist made contact with his face. He stumbled back against the table. The fight had summoned the attention of the whole regiment. Some looked amused, others concerned and worried.

Aramis grabbed Athos at his collar, ready to blow another hit. "ENOUGH!" Treville dismounted and came up with quick steps. Aramis let go of the swordsman cursing. He felt dizzy, as if he weren't totally awake by now. The voice of the captain seemed to be muffled by cotton. And Aramis knew the grip on his arm was supposed to hurt, still it felt like a soft touch. He blinked a few times, trying to see clear but it didn't work. "We have let pass a lot of things you've done the past days, Aramis. But enough is enough." Aramis felt how he was dragged up the stair and into the room of the Captain. Athos followed silently.

Treville pushed Aramis into a chair and sat down in his own one, while Athos remained staying. "Aramis we all understand that you're going through a tough time and-" "You understand nothing!" The marksman wanted to stand up but was held down by Athos. "We try to understand," Treville corrected himself. "But you can't behave like this. You're late to the morning calls, you're fighting with every other musketeer near you. Goddamn, you nearly killed Serge as you threw a bowl after him!"

Aramis looked down at his hands. This wasn't himself, he knew that. He knew that his behavior was wrong but he wasn't able to change it. It felt right in the moment and minutes later he regretted it. Then he took some milk of the poppy and everything was fine again. All the scolding looks left, all the guilt was gone.

Treville sighed, running his hand over his face. "I don't like to do this but I don't see another way out. You're dismissed until you're yourself again. Until you don't need this drug anymore and can fulfill your duties." Aramis wasn't shocked or sad or angry, but he wasn't felt happy either. He just felt… empty. He always had the feeling that the work, the easiest tasks, were too much for him. That being with other musketeers was too much. Still he needed it. He needed a reason to get out of bed, even though it was already noon when he did. The medic sighed and stood up slowly. This time Athos let him. Aramis looked at the Captain, then at Athos who's eye was already colored in a dark blue.

"I'm sorry." Aramis muttered as he walked out of the room. He didn't know if he excused for the punch, his behavior or because he had let them all down. Treville and Athos had told him a many times how happy all of them were to have him back, to have at least one alive. It had to be hard for them as he pushed them away again and again. Still, he wasn't able to control it.

Aramis went to his room and laid down on his bed. He had slept over ten hours and was awake for three but felt tired already. He slept for five more until he walked through his room restless. He heard the commands down in the court, the guns and the swords. He wanted to be there and he wanted to be alone. Aramis let out a frustrated scream. He didn't even know himself what he wanted! He had never felt so alone and lost. He just couldn't get rid of this feeling since Marsac left him in the woods to die.

It knocked in the same moment as the door opened. Athos didn't wait for an invitation that would never have come. "Let me help you." Aramis looked at the musketeers long and thoughtful. He has always wondered why Athos was so interested in helping him. Aramis didn't know Athos, although they're working together since nearly a year. But what Aramis knew that Athos was a drunkard. Always in a bad mood and unsociable. "Why?" Aramis asked the question that went through his head so many times.

Athos seemed to be taken back by the question for a moment. He expected another punch, screams, curses or silence. But not this. "I don't want to see a good man getting lost like this. I don't want anyone to be lost like this." _Like me_ , the swordsman thought. Aramis nod, as he understood what was behind the words. He noticed his head felt clear for the first time in days, but with this the headache came back. He massaged his temple as he sat down. "You're not yourself in the moment but you can get it back." Aramis looked up skeptical. "I fear you're wrong this time. You can't get back what's lost."

"Sometimes you have to search a bit, but nothing is ever really… away. Nothing just vanishes." Aramis didn't think that Athos was right. He knew that he won't ever be able to forget what had happened in Savoy. He knew that a part of him died there. But Aramis was tired and just wanted to stop all of this. The pain, the guilt, the loneliness, the despair. He wanted to feel something again that wasn't bad. So he nod slightly. "Do what you want."

Athos smiled, just so slightly you wouldn't have noticed if you didn't look exactly. "You will not like it." Aramis closed his eyes as his head hurt even more. He grabbed into his pocket and took out the medicine. Athos took the bottle before Aramis had the chance to even open it. "I will have to take very bottle you have of this. You don't need it anymore."

Aramis looked horrified. Of course he needed it! Without it he wasn't able to withstand the immense pain in his head. He wanted to protest as Athos searched for further bottles, but everything spinned as he stood up. "Don't. I need it." He had to watch helplessly as Athos broke the bottles and let the precious liquid escape. Aramis saw how it sunk into the wooden floor slowly, turning it into a darker shade of brown. "I need it." He repeated, as he supported his head with his hands.

"Your wounds are healed since a long time Aramis. It's your soul that needs help, not your body." Athos knew what he was talking about.

Aramis didn't answer. He felt too weak and the pain just got harder with every second. "Can I sleep now?"

Athos shook his head. "You've slept enough. You will eat now." Aramis got sick as he thought about the smell of pork or cheese. No, he wasn't hungry at all. "When did you eat the last time?" Athos asked, inspecting the thin man. "Don't know. Yesterday or something like that."

The swordsman put down a plate with bread, steak and potatoes and a bowl of soup. Aramis sighed, as he tried of the soup. He felt like he needed to throw up. "I can't." The marksman stood up fast and stumbled to the window to get a bit of fresh air. He had to hold onto the windowsill to not fall down. Athos sighed as he realized that he would need to be more patient. Wounds need time to heal and a broken soul is nothing different. "Rest." He commanded and guided Aramis to his bed. He didn't protest, which worried the swordsman even more. Aramis seemed so weak at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

It's a quite short chapter, since I'm still trying to figure out how I'm writing what's coming next. Hope you enjoy it though! Maybe I will update later this day again... but not quite sure about this.  
Thanks a lot for your lovely reviews, keep it going!

Aramis woke up sweating and panting. His eyes wandered through the room restless. He noticed that Athos had fallen asleep in his chair. He felt his heart race and his head pound. Aramis felt cold as he stood up _. Just a few drops._ Disillusionment hit him as he remembered what Athos just did a few hours ago. The musketeers groaned in frustration, his hands ripped at his hair. He suddenly felt scared, without knowing of what exactly. _I need it_.

He looked back to the sleeping swordsman one last time, before he opened the door slowly. Aramis slipped through the small gap and into the dark corridors of the garrison. His heart raced so fast he feared it might pop out of his chest any moment as he opened the door to the medic room. The marksman thanked god, that no one was there at the moment and slowly opened the cupboards.

"It has to be here," he muttered while he looked at the various medicines. Relief filled him as he finally found what he was searching for. Every bit of his carefulness had left him and he opened the bottle hastily just to take a big sip of the precious liquid. Aramis sighed in relief as his heart seemed to slow down. He leaned against the wall and hid the bottle in his trousers. "He won't take you away from me a second time," Aramis whispered as he closed his eyes.

"Take away what?" The marksmans eyes shot open just to see Treville standing in the doorframe. He was fully dressed in his uniform, eyes tired. He probably was at the palace till now. Aramis swallowed hard as he searched for an answer.

The Captain sighed. "It's late and I want to sleep, Aramis. Give it to me and let us talk about it later."

No. He can't give it away again. He needs it. Aramis shook his head and slowly walked towards the next window. "Don't even think about it!" Treville was about to jump at Aramis, as he climbed out of the window. He felt the Captains hand at his ankle but a light kick was enough too free himself. Aramis heard Treville shouts as he ran out of the garrison.

The musketeer didn't quite know where to go, but his feet seemed to carry him to his unknown destination by themselves. Meanwhile informed the Captain Athos, who was out in the dark searching for Aramis the minute he heard about what had happened. He cursed himself for falling asleep, for letting Aramis go unnoticed. It was his fault.

Fortunately knew Athos better than Aramis himself where he had probably went. So he found his comrade kneeling in the grass just a few minutes later. Aramis shoulders shook as sobs left his body.

Athos didn't know how to react, so he decided to give Aramis a few minutes alone. He waited behind a tree from where he could see and hear the musketeer well enough.

"Why won't you leave me?" The marksman looked at the tombstone as if it could answer him. "Your souls don't deserve to be stuck here with me. Just… let go. Please do what I can't do and let go." Aramis breathing was fast as if not enough air could fill his lungs. "I know I don't deserve any mercy, but…" He didn't really know what to say any further, so he screamed in confusion, fear and frustration.

"Just let me alone." Aramis pleaded once again before his words got lost in his sobs. He jumped as a gentle hand laid on his shoulder and squeezed carefully. Athos didn't say anything since there was nothing what could ease the pain. Aramis calmed down and stood up slowly. His vision was blurry as he looked into the swordsmans eyes. "Don't take the last thing I've got from me." 

Athos heart cracked as he saw the distress in the musketeers eyes, as he felt him slightly tremble under his touch. "Come," Athos said instead of answering, "Let us get some sleep." 

This time Athos bound a rope on Aramis ankle and his own wrist, of course without the knowing of the marksman, just to make sure he won't run away again. Athos also found the stolen bottle in the pockets of the musketeer, as he slept. He emptied it before he sat down again.

The next days won't be easy for either of them.


	6. Chapter 6

Athos had been awake for quite a while as Treville entered the room. Aramis still slept and not even the sound of the door being closed loudly woke him up. "He took a lot," The Captain assumed and sat down beside Athos, who nod slightly. Treville looked at him worried. "You're not looking much better than him. You need to rest properly." Athos sighed, he knew that the Captain was right. The night in the chair hadn't done anything good to his arching back, still he didn't want to leave Aramis alone. The happenings of the last night confirmed that he should be watched every minute.

"Go and sleep. I can stay here for a few hours. When he awakens I will let someone fetch you, then we can talk." Athos wanted to argue, but he didn't had any reasons against the plan of the Captain. So he walked out of the room and into his own one. He fell asleep just a few minutes later.

It was already afternoon and Athos had slept at least six hours by now, as a new recruit knocked at his door. "Aramis woke up," he informed before he walked off. The swordsman got dressed again and went back to the Captain and Aramis, who leaned against the wall behind his bed. He didn't seem to be pleased to see both men together. Treville stood up and spoke first. "What happened last night can't happen ever again. We're trying to help you and you just steal from us and run away?"

Aramis looked at his shaking hands, not able to see into the faces of the men he had disappointed once again. "Now stand up and face this as a soldier!" Treville commanded. The happenings of the night had shown him that Aramis didn't need to be fussed over (maybe just a little bit), but he needed a firm hand. The marksman sighed and stood up. He held onto the wall, as it went dark in front of his eyes for a second. As his circulation had steadied and only a light headache was left he stood as straight as possible and looked right into the eyes of the Captain. He saw anger and disappointment, what he didn't saw – but what was there- was concern and sympathy. "I won't tolerate such a behavior any longer, Soldier. We want to help you, but you have to _let_ us help. We can't force you so we give you the choice. Either you behave after the rules of the musketeers and do what you're told and let us help you or you just keep on doing what you're doing. But if you choose the second point I will have to dismiss you for forever. You won't be a musketeer any longer and you will have to leave this place."

Aramis face went pale, as he felt like he just lost the ground beneath his feet. He knew the Captain would pull this through. One wrong step and he would lose everything. He thought about the 'Choices' that were given him. It wasn't a real choice. If he didn't want to end as a beggar and homeless he had to choose the first way. "That's not quite a choice," he muttered, running his hands through his hair. It was not like that he didn't want help. He just couldn't live with the kind of help that was offered him. He just wanted to forget what had happened and live like nothing had happened, but Athos and Treville wanted to take away from him what kept him sane. On the other hand he hadn't anywhere to go than the garrison. He had no one out there, he had no other family, not another home.

"It's the choice you get to make. There are no other ways." Athos said. His heart beat fast as he waited for Aramis' decision but on the outside he seemed calm and controlled. The medic wanted to sit down, as all of this overwhelmed him, but he didn't dare with Treville standing in front of him.

"Make your decision," the Captain ordered. "You took it from me. I will have to choose the first way. I will do what I'm told." Aramis felt defeated, alone and deceived as he said it. He never had a choice, this was not what he wanted but what he had to do. The only option he had.

Treville and Athos seemed satisfied with his decision. "You will be guarded all the time. Athos is dismissed from his duty for the king for the time, watching out for you. The times he needs a break another one of us will come and look after you." The Captain explained with a strict face.

 _A prisoner in my own home_ , Aramis thought. Treville glanced over to Athos. "Come to me if anything happens." With this the Captain leaves Athos and Aramis alone with each other.

"Drink."

"Eat."

"Sleep."

"Clean yourself."

"Get some fresh air."

Aramis felt like his free will was taken away from him as he had to do as he was told. As a soldier he was used to get orders, though he never really liked to follow them. But he could live with it, as it were orders affecting his work. Now, as the orders affected his whole life, he felt like a marionette. Athos didn't listen to him, as he begged for some relief. He just told him that everything was going to be okay. He held him tightly when Aramis wanted to fight him and he laid him into the bed, when all his strength left him weak and vulnerable.

"You're not helping me!" Aramis screamed once again and tried to sit up but was pushed down by Athos strong hands. "None of you understands this. I NEED it!" He struggled to get free, but he had fought so much in the last hours that it was no big effort for Athos to hold him down. This was as the swordsman noticed how cold Aramis felt and how much his hands shook. Athos thought as if it was really that good to just take the medicine from Aramis. Maybe it would be easier to lower the doses he took.

No. Athos shook his head mentally. This needed to be done now and completely.

Athos let go of Aramis, as he didn't fight back for a minute. His hands now free, the marksman pushed against Athos chest. "Go away. If you're not willing to help me, leave me alone."  
"You know that won't happen." Athos sat down in his chair, satisfied to see that Aramis didn't want to sit up again.

Nearly an hour in silence went by until Athos noticed that Aramis clenched his eyes shut. The shaking had increased and he desperately tried not to let the swordsman see. Athos kneeled down in front of the bed carefully. "Aramis, you okay?" Athos held his hand against Aramis' forehead, flinching at the heat that went out from the musketeer. "You're nearly cooking."

"Don't act as this would bother you," Aramis hissed through gritted teeth. "I've told you thousand times that I need it. You can't take it away from me that easily, my body longs for it." His voice got lower with every word, until Athos had to lean over to understand him. "I'm the medic and still you thought you knew better than me. Now you have to take the consequences."

Athos swallowed hard and sat back, thinking about the options he had. He knew Aramis was right at some point but giving him the milk of the poppy just wasn't an option. He told himself that it was not his fault. Aramis was the one who got addicted and he has to take the consequences for his own behavior. Still, a part in Athos thought otherwise.

Athos watched how the musketeer got lost in the fever more with every minute. Sweat was now dripping down his face, while he muttered curses. Treville has been informed by now, but he was still at the palace. He couldn't do much anyways. Aramis breath fastened to a speed where Athos wondered how long heart and lungs could endure this. He was not reacting at what Athos said by now. His curses had ended, as he seemed to clench all his muscles. The swordsman put wet towels onto his head and around his calves, changing them very few minutes.

A doctor entered the room after a while. He suggested to give Aramis some opium – probably the milk of the poppy – as he didn't know about his background. As this was denied by Athos he suggested bloodletting, but the musketeer feared that this would weaken Aramis even more. So there was nothing more the doctor could do.

Athos tried to get some water into the marksman, but he nearly choked on it. Frustrated that he couldn't help the Musketeer, Athos walked through the room restlessly. A crucifix at the top of the cupboard caught his attention. It was just now as he remembered how religious Aramis was. Athos never understood much about religion, he never cared for it though. Still he knew that it brought strength to the religious ones. "Maybe your god can help," he mumbled as he put the necklace around the medics neck. It didn't help though. But what had he thought? That it just would perform magic and heal Aramis? Athos curses himself for thinking that this could have helped and for hoping it would.

A scream ripped him out of his thoughts. Aramis was tossing around, his hands clenched around the sheet beneath him. Athos carefully brushed the hair out of the marksman's face, before he kneeled before the bed. Aramis screamed once again, while he beat and kicked the air. "Leave me alone! Get away from me you devilish birds!" "Hey, hey. Everything is fine, Aramis. Do you hear me? You're at the garrison. Here are no birds, here is nothing that can hurt you."

Aramis didn't seem to notice the voice of the swordsman as he kept on shouting. "I'm not dead yet, get away from me!" Only then Athos really understood what he was talking about. He was back in Savoy. Athos thought if it was just a feverish nightmare or if this maybe really had happened at some part. If the crows had mistaken Aramis for one of his dead brothers and attacked him. It was possible, as Aramis was nearly dead as he was found. "You're save now," Athos repeated, brushing through the musketeers hair.

Aramis wasn't able to be calmed down by Athos. He just stopped as his body was too exhausted and the fever increased so much he just went limp. Now Athos didn't just feared that he maybe hurt himself while he had a nightmare, but he feared for Aramis life.


	7. Chapter 7

Nearly three days went by without Aramis waking up. He didn't show any signs of life, despite the slight rising of his chest. Athos tried to get some water into his companion, but only managed a few drops every now and then. He started to wonder when Aramis would lose his fight against death because of dehydration. The swordsman had once heard that a man can survive two weeks without food but only three without water. Aramis sweated a lot and drank nearly nothing. Three days were nearly over.

"You've suffered already so much, mon Ami. You shouldn't have to go through this, too." Athos sighed as he washed away the sweat on Aramis' forehead. The white skin was hot under his touch but not as hot as a day before. Maybe he got better, Athos hoped. Or maybe his body started to lose the fight.

No.

Aramis was strong. Stronger then he himself knew. Even though he hadn't show any will to live the past weeks, Athos knew there was something inside the marksman that wanted to live. Something strong and dedicated. Athos remembered the burning light in his eyes, the cheeky smiles and hearty laughs. The way he made everyone around him happy. The way he was always there for others in need. No, Aramis never seemed as someone who would give up easily. He wouldn't have survived Savoy if he would be weak. He was the strongest man Athos knew. He wouldn't stop fighting and he would win. He needed to win. The musketeers couldn't lose the last survivor to a fever. The death of Aramis would take away so much from them. Not only the happiness he had always brought with him, but all the strength and hope too. Each musketeer has already lost twenty-one of their closest friends, they couldn't bear to lose one more. The last one. Aramis was not only the lone survivor to them, but the last thing that seemed to keep the dead ones in memory. They shall not be forgotten. With Aramis they would somehow live on, too.

"I hope your god is as kind as you always preached. I hope he gives you the strength you need. You know, some of us have already turned to him, prayed for you and the others. I don't really believe in all of this, but if there's this god you always talked about, he will surly save you. He won't let someone like you die. I hope he won't." Athos stroked over the cover of the bible, that laid on the table behind him. He opened it slowly, confused as he didn't find only latin words in it but the French ones written above them in a scrawly writing. "You translated it?" Curious Athos started reading as it was the first time he _truly_ understood what was written in the holy book. As a Comte he had, of course, learned some latin, but it was never enough to read or speak it fluently.

"But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not become weary, they will walk and not faint." Athos closes the book gently, looking as the weak body in front of him. "I hope that this is true and that your faith will give you strength. You're needed here, you know? Can't let us down now, Aramis. Not after everything you've survived, you can't die now that easily. Won't let that happen, no. You will see, you will live." Athos spoke, as he felt that Aramis' god gave him some kind of comfort and strength, too.

Darkness surrounded him, dull voices echoed in his mind but the words they spoke were meaningless. He tried to open eyes, to see where he was but his eyelids felt too heavy to being opened. His hands stroked the soft fabric beneath them, comforting him somehow. It wasn't snow he was lying in and blood neither. It felt kind of safe. Still, he heard screams. Panic filled his heart, which broke into a hundred of pieces as images of his slaughtered brothers popped up. Empty eyes looked at him, pleading for help. He wanted to run over to them, stop them from crying, save them. But he couldn't move. Something held him down. The fingertips felt like the claws of ravens in his skin. The screams got louder, shouting for his name. "Aramis!"

He needed to help his brothers, he can't let them die. Again. Aramis struggled against the hands that held him down, now aware that they wanted to keep him from hurting himself. Athos called his name again and again, hoping to wake his companion from his nightmare, but he just didn't seem to hear.

After minutes of struggling, Aramis calmed down, tears streaming down his face. "They're all dead." He whispered with a rough voice, his fingers clenched into the sheets.  
"Aramis, you're safe. Can you open your eyes for me?" Athos let go of the body, as he was sure that he wouldn't start to struggle again.

The voice confused Aramis, as it seemed like a faint whisper to him from somewhere behind the darkness. Maybe there was light were it came from? He wanted to see light so desperately. He didn't want to be alone in the darkness anymore. He felt so lost, even his faith didn't seem to be with him in this horrible place. It was only he, his sins and the lost souls of his brothers. The brothers he couldn't save. "Aramis, come on open your eyes. I know you're awake."

The marksman tried to open his eyes again, his eyelids lifting just a little bit. But the burning light was too much, so he clenched them shut again. He heard someone cursing, some rustling as Athos closed the curtains and then something warm and comforting touching his hand. "Come on, try again. It's not that bright anymore, you can do it."

The gentle squeeze on his hand was enough to make Aramis try again. This time he managed to open his eyes completely, but his vision was still blurry. He saw someone sit beside him and after his eyes had focused he noticed Athos, relief written on his face. "Thought you wouldn't wake up again."

Aramis was still confused and tried to remember what had happened and why he felt so weak. The milk of the poppy, the fever. He sighed and as the world around him started to spin, a cup of water was held to his lips. "You need to drink." Athos lifted the marksman's head carefully, so he could take a few sips. As the cup was empty he laid him back down on the pillow.

"How long?" Aramis throat burned as he talked, caused by not drinking in so long. "Nearly three days." The medic sighed once again, closing his eyes for a moment. "I still feel tired." Athos nods understanding. "You can soon rest again. But for now, I need you to stay awake a little bit longer. Serge is making you some broth, we need to get something in you." As the marksman tried to sit up, Athos hurried to his help, lifting him and putting the pillows behind his back.

An hour later Athos had managed a whole cup of broth into Aramis before he fell asleep again. This time he seemed less dead and stronger than before. His skin was still hot, but now Athos was faithful that the fever would go away soon. God hasn't left Aramis.

Aramis fell into darkness again. At first it felt good, somehow comforting. But then ravens flew up to him, even darker as the blackness surrounding him. Their screams filled his heart with sorrow and fear. He felt them sitting on him. As he started to hit them, they just dug their claws deeper into his skin. Their sharp beaks ripped away some of his skin until there was only blood and flesh left. He screamed but no one seemed to hear him.

Aramis woke panting, as the ravens were about to rip out his guts. He, again, needed a few moments to recognize his surroundings. His breath slowed down, as he understood that it was just a bad dream.

The marksman noticed that he was alone in his room, but the door was opened a bit. He recognized the voices coming from the other side, Athos and Treville, but couldn't understand what they were talking about, so he started to focus on himself again. Aramis wondered when the nightmares would stop, when the lost souls would finally find peace, when he could overcome the incidents. And as he didn't find an answer to this, he started to wonder _if_ he could ever get ripped from the aftermaths of Savoy. He wanted to forget so badly. To be himself again. But then he wondered if the old him was still alive. If he could ever get back to the old him or if would be this traumatized, lost and hurt man forever. He couldn't endure that. He needed to look into the mirror and see sparkling eyes again. He needed to feel the joy in his chest again, the love he felt for so many people. Oh how he missed the luck he had always felt. How he missed the faith he once had, the strength it gave him. He missed the tingle on his skin when he knew a fight was about to start and wanted to lose the fear the sounds of metal cursed.

He missed himself and feared that he would be lost forever.

 _I'm very sorry for not updating in so long, but I'm kind of busy and also concentrated on writing the one shots for "The musketeers adventures". I hope this short chapter still gave you some joy and that you keep on writing and reviewing!_


	8. Chapter 8

Two days went by in which Aramis got better. The fever was gone by now, leaving him strong enough to endure the memories following him with every step. Sometimes Athos had forced him to go outside, but after Aramis got a flashback as he watched the Musketeers practice, Athos decided to only go out with him when the courtyard was empty. He noticed how the marksman always avoided to look at the weapons stored at the left wall, how he never looked at the gate leading to the graveyard. He tried to pretend like nothing ever happened, tried to forget. Athos knew all too well that this always seemed easier then to think or speak about a trauma, but it was the wrong way though. Aramis could not act like Savoy never happened forever. Some day he will have to face the truth, he will have to cope with the aftermath and the memroeis, as well as the loss of twenty-one brothers.

They sat a the same bench as every evening, watching how the blue sky is turning into a fusion of orange and violet. Aramis hasn't talked to Athos for quite a while, acutally he hasn't talked to anyone. He kept to himself, always something on his mind. Sometimes he thought how all of this could have happened, what they did wrong, if a guard wasn't alert enough. Sometimes he thinks about the battle, what he could have done to save at least a few of his brothers. Maybe he should have moved faster then, maybe he should have stabbed a man instead of shooting him so he could shoot another one, maybe he... Maybe he just didn't fight hard enough, not good enoug. Maybe he wassn't even worse being a musketeer. Then in other moments he remembers the lifeless eyes following him with every move, condemn him. Sometimes he wonders if god hated him or if he did something to anger him. Or maybe he just left? Maybe he never was there? How could there be a god if something like that happened? All the thinking made his head hurt more, the throbbing increasing again. But there was always one thing he never thought about, he tried to avoid. Marsac and the betrayal of his once truest of friends. He couldn't stand to think about the man and how he just left him behind to die.

Sometimes all these memories felt wrong, as they didn't belong to himself - as if they arised through a story which was once told him. Other times it seems as he is right back there, living through this nightmare another time. Athos is always there with him. Sometimes he comforts him or talks endleslly about something quite uninteresting to distract Aramis from his original thought. And sometimes he says nothing and jsut sits there by the marksmans side, showing him that he isn't alone.

So after all these days without Aramis speaking a single world, Athos was starled as he heard the musketeers voice again - not in a pained sscrem as in his nightmares, or a helpless whimper. No, he sounded neutral, detached as if he was talking about a recipe for broth and not about Savoy.

"I'm not sure that I will ever be able to cope with this, Athos. I - I'm not able to forget and neither I'm able to think about it. I'm stuck in this endless loop, repeating itself ever again. How am i supposed to live like this? With these memories spooking in my mind, with the fear clinging to my heart? Gosh, I can't even look at weapons anymore, let alone hold them. How am I supposed to be a Musketeer if I'm actling like a small child?" Athos didn't dare to interrupt the marksman as he suddenly started to speak, doing exactly what Treville and Athos always had hoped for. He started to actually cope with the incident. And as he had thought, Aramis didn't want answers - not yet. He just wanted to let it all out. All these things ran through his head already a thousand times and they needed to get out - they finally did.

"But what else am I supposed to be? I mean, I went to priest school, yes, but I had my reasons to leave. It wasn't a life ade for me - the life of a soldier is what I always needed and wanted, but now... it's just taken away from me. I have nothing left. I have no family, no real friends, no home, no other job I could take. The musketeers used to be my family, my friends and my home, but now -" he shuddered at the thought, stumbling about his own words as he spoke them. "But they're all dead. Everyone I dared to call a friend or a brother - they're gone because I wasn't good enough. Left are men I barely know, new recruits. I feel like a stranger. And the garrison... it was always my home. I felt comforted and save as soon as I entered these gates but now it is nothing more like hell for me. Everything reminds me of them and what happened. The graveyard right around the corner, the other Musketeers mourning for them... I used to love every sound in here. The clash of metal, the shouting, the guns, the laughter and the horses but now I can't stop to remember how swords stabbed my brothers in their sleep, how these bandits shouted orders, how guns blew out the brains of sleeping men and how their leader laughed as they rode away. Oh god -" Aramis tried to hold back a sob but failed miserably. His whole body shook at the memories. However a strong arm around his shoulder gave him some much needed comfort and strength.

"I wish I just could leave all of this behind, start a new life somewhere in the Gascony and forget everything. I could be so easy... just running away. But I can't." A bitter laugh left his skinny body. Athos frowned and for the first time he dared to speak. Eventhough he didn't like the idea of Aramis just leaving, the arksman was right - it would be easier, maybe even better for him. Maybe he could get happy again. Running away had been the right decision for Athos, so why not for anyone other? "Why don't you do it? I mean, I don't wish for you to leave, but you are right - it would be so simple to just leave."

For a few moments silence hang over the courtyard as Aramis stared at the ground beneath his leather boots. "I hate him for doing so and I just can't do the same as he did. I'm no coward, do you hear? I'm not gutless!" Aramis voice raised rapidly as he felt the need to explain himself. "I - I maybe act like one now, but I am not. No I have at least some honor left! I won't be a coward like he, I won't just leave you all behind and run like Marsac did. I -" He stopped as some sparks of realization lightened in his mind. "I'm stronger than him."

Athos couldn't hold back a small smile as he gently nudged the marksmans shoulder. "You are, Aramis. You're stronger than the most of us are. And you're no coward, never was. And you are a great soldier and I'm sure you fought good. I'm sure you gave everything and risked your own life to protect your brothers. But sometimes even the best are helpless. But it's not your fault, nothing of it was. You are a victim of these bandits just as much as the others. And yes, maybe you were just luckier or maybe you fought better, maybe it was god who saved you - we may never know - but what's important is that you live, that you survived. And don't ever think you weren't worth it, `cause you are."

"Than you, mon ami. For listening, and all of this. But by now I am sure god has left us, so maybe it was just... luck." He sighed. And eventhough he was on a better way of thinking, there was still a long way to go left. The light in his eyes was still dull and the fold on his brow present.

And maybe he hadn't reached his destiny yet, but he at least started to walk. Soon he could try running, Athos thought hopeful.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It was like watching a flower grow, as Aramis seemed to flourish more with every day. It was slowly, still.

And soon Athos thought he saw a sparkle in the marksman at least twice, a smile that wasn't faked every now and then and after a while, it had been weeks since their coversation in the courtyard, he heard the man laugh. It was short and quite and the marksman seemed to feel bad afterwards, the dull look came back to his eyes immedatly - but it was there. It was this new recruit, who tried to shoot. Oh god, he was bad in it. Didn't even know how to reload a weapon. Athos wondered why Treville recruted him, but then he saw him a fist fight and Athos knew why. This man was a colossus. And most importantly: he was clueless or at least he acted like it. He never talked about Savoy, about the reason why so many new recruits are hired. He never askes Aramis about the scar on his forehead or why he was almost never to be seen in the courtyard. He never wanted to know why the marksman didn't dare to touch a gun, or maybe he already knew - Athos wasn't sure. But he didn't care. What he cared about was that this man, Porthos, was like a fresh breeze on a hot summer evening for him and Aramis. He lightened the mood when Athos didn't know how, he never was good at things like this. He talked to Aramis like nothing ever happened, because maybe he didn't know or didn't care. This was apperently the best thing for the marksman, eventhough it was hard sometimes too. He didn't feel like a cripple or a ghost, because Porthos didn't treat him like this. He felt... normal. But other times he flinched when Porthos walked towards him, his sword carelessly in his hands.

"Oh god stop, you're going to shoot yourself!" It was Aramis voice, which echoed through the courtyard like the one of an angel. The whole regiment stopped for a second, surprised to see the marksman leaving his chambers in daylight, while they practiced and talking. Aramis didn't want to. He felt how his breath fastened and his heart raced in his chest as he hurried down the stairs, Porthos staring at him like a lost puppy.

Aramis gulped as he looked at the pistol in the mans hand and didn't come closer than a few meters. It was quite odd as he tried to explain Porthos how to hold the weapon correctly from this distance, but it was more than Athos could have wished for. He noticed how Aramis tensed up as the shot rang through the courtyard and how he clenched his eyes shut. But the moment the sound had vanished and Porthos turned around smiling - happy to have hit the target - Aramis tried to relax again. You could still see that his skin was paler than normal and his breath fast, but he seemed okay.

Okay, was what described Aramis the best for the upcoming days and weeks.

He had his nightmares and restless nights. He had his headaches and break downs. Sometimes you heard the man scream into his pillow, hear things scatter on the floor. In some night Athos watched how Aramis visited the graveyard, then you were able to hear quite whimpers and sobs. He had days were he didn't leave his room once and didn't spoke a word. He still didn't eat much, but he looked healthier. But then, there were days were he seemed to remember how it was to be Aramis, to be himself. He tried to laugh, tried to hide the discomfort when swords clashed on each other. He sometimes even tried to joke. It wasn't like before, it wasn't that easy, it wasn't always real - but he tried.

Athos knew that it would take a lot time, but the worst was over. Aramis didn't ask for the milk-of-the-poppy anymore. Still, the swordsman was determind to not let the medic near it for some more time. He wondereed what would happen if Aramis would really need it after being injured or sick, if he would get addicted to it again. He probably would, but Athos didn't want to think about it now - this was a problem for the future.

A year later, Aramis was mostly back to himself again - or at least pretended to be - and it was more Athos had ever hoped for. There are still moments he watches Aamis intensive and where he isn't sure if it was the same smile and the same sparkle as before Savoy happened. Sometimes, he thought to still see the dullness in his eyes and the force he needed to smile. But he didn't complained. Aramis was stronger than he had ever thought.

And it was four years later as a young Gascon came to their group of three. And Athos still had his eyes on his friend, was still worried for him. But then he realized - he didn't need to. Because Aramis was okay. No one can ever really be fine, so 'okay' needed to be enough and it was. And he was okay because now he had everything back he had lost. He had a family again, he had his friends, he no longer felt like a strange in his own home. He had the love for fighting back, the addiction for adrenaline and danger. He had his faith back.

He may never get back his lost brothers and he may never forget and never stop to mourn, but he accepted all of this as a part of him.

And most importantly of all: He got himself back. He survived, eventhough a part of him had died.


End file.
